Post-episode 7 Interactions - After Crash
Fox grunts with effort as he feels a wave of dizziness begin to creep up on him. He senses his blood pumping through his head as a bead of sweat trickles from his neck, slowly making a trail towards his left eye. With a decisive clang, he manages to dislodge the damaged metal plate that he has been trying to pry open with one of his daggers. As he sets the hunk of steel aside, he spares a quick glance at his blade, its edge no longer sharp and pristine. He sighs and puts it back in a hidden sheath on his arm. “What are you sighing about? You’re not the one holding an upside-down elf by his boots!” Wolf mumbles, the annoyance clear in her voice. “Quiet. I’m trying to concentrate.” Fox says as he stretches his hand into the dark recesses of the machinery before him. He squints as his eyes adjust to the darkness, allowing him to see into even the most shrouded corners of the small space. Being an elf has its advantages. Wolf closes her eyes, not minding the burning sensation running through her arms as she supports her brother’s full weight with her outstretched arms. She has endured much worse. Her mind begins to wander to Shepherd. Where was he? Was he hurt? Was he still… alive? She shakes her head violently to banish these thoughts. Worrying would accomplish nothing. The best way they could help Shepherd was to get the airship running again so they could get some help. Or go get him themselves, if it came to that. She had not noticed it, but she had involuntarily began to grind her teeth nervously. Fox barely manages to catch the sound of it over the humming magical energies, grumbling machinery, and the general noise of the people living in the Last Resort. It is a bad habit of hers that tells Fox all he needs to know about his sister’s current state of mind. “I’m worried about him too.” he says gently, his voice barely a whisper. He feels the Wolf’s grip tighten around his boots like a silent plea for help. Fox buries himself in his work once more. ---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- April walks away from the training room door, her stance betraying her inner turmoil as her sister’s last words to her echoing in her mind. “I will never be a victim again.” May had said with a cold conviction that had sent a shiver down her spine. She had never seen May like that. May had always been the more timid of her siblings, and this sudden change did not sit well with her. Still, she could not help but understand what was driving May to these lengths. After what she had experienced in the hours that she had spent in the hands of those gods-damned Guttersnipes… Instinctively, she balls her hands into tight fists. She recalls the look of determination that May had on her face as she tried to tap into every ounce of her willpower to extend her magical arm. She had failed utterly, her sweat running down her face in rivulets, but she had not shown the least sign of surrender. In fact, April’s attempts to dissuade her from pursuing her need for revenge only seemed to further fuel her determination. May would never be the same again. As this thought hits her, her nails dig deep enough into her the soft palms of her hands to draw a bit of blood. She exhales slowly as she takes a look at the bright red marks that her nails have left on her skin. “I need a drink.” she says to nobody in particular. ---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Cage stares at the remains of several thopters that are spread out on a table in front of him. Lucian and Lucrecia had not given him permission to touch the communications equipment or the engines, but they had encouraged him to take a set of tools and begin thinking of a way to make use of the broken thopters. Maybe he could make something useful out of all this stuff. He did not know how he came to understood machines. All he knew that understanding the inner workings of machines came to him as naturally as breathing. Funnily enough, he had never done well in the Academia. He had shown potential and aptitude in combat and tactics, but any books containing scientific concepts above the intermediate level had given him trouble. He could eventually come to understand more complicated concepts given time and a patient tutor, but those were rare things in his time as a student. They were raising him to fight, not to understand why he had to fight. Still, this did not dissuade him from trying to find answers himself. Even back then. he had loved books. They did not sigh in frustration if he had to re-read a passage to understand it better. They did not ask him to prove his answer, even though he had come to the correct conclusion through instinct. They accepted him for who he was, and silently loved him for giving them so much attention. He flips open one of the books from his collection and begins to think deeply, losing himself in the deepest recesses of his mind. ---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- April walks into the remains of the bar to find the twins working on the communications gear. She waves to Wolf, who reciprocates with a cocky smile as she holds her brother up by his boots. The veins on her arms had popped out and her lean, yet impressive muscles were flexed in effort, yet she looked like she could go on doing this all day long. She was strong, there was no doubt about that. She decides not to disturb them, so she grabs a bottle of Romstein’s Sour Mash, her favorite whiskey, and walks out into the cold night air. As she walks the starboard deck of the Last Resort, a herculean silhouette in the distance catches her eye. “Hey big guy. Care for a drink?” She calls out to Dur as she approaches, the bottle waving playfully in her hands. Dur turns around, but before he can see her, he already knows that it is April calling out to him. He sees the bottle and seems to have an internal debate with himself. He gives her a curt nod, then motions with his head towards a small clearing on the grassy floor of the swamp. April approaches and takes a look at how far the ground is from the deck. She begins to move towards one of the ladders that would let her climb down to the ground when she feels a rush of air from behind her, followed by a large thump below. She looks down to see Dur, looking up at her with arms outstretched. With an adventurous smile, she jumps off, her clothes fluttering in the cold night air. Dur catches her with ease, compensating for the shock of the fall with a quick swinging motion with his arms. It makes April feel giddy, and she laughs appreciatively as she hops off of his arms and on to the damp grass. She inhales deeply, taking in the smells of nature. She takes off her shoes and wiggles her toes. “I like the feeling of the grass on my feet.” she expresses with an appreciative sigh as she pops the top off the bottle. The smoky aroma of the whisky mixes with the dewy air, turning it into a heady, yet pleasant concoction that Dur decides that he likes. She takes a rather large swig of the whisky and hands it to Dur, who eyes it tentatively before deciding to take a deep gulp of the mysterious liquid that he has avoided for most of his life. Instantly, he feels fire run through his chest and stomach as the strong alcohol does its work. He breathes out in surprise, but does not cough at the strength of the drink. April raises an eyebrow in surprise. “Not bad for a first timer.” she says with genuine pleasure in her voice. Dur nods, then passes the bottle back to April. After a few minutes of comfortable silence that is only broken by occasional gulps and appreciative sighs, Dur clears his throat. “Want to talk?” Dur says brusquely, obviously more than a little uncomfortable in social situations like these. Still, he was trying. April giggles a little at the absurdity of the moment. She didn’t expect this from Dur, who was usually the most stoic of the group. She then looks at him seriously, thinking about unburdening herself on Dur. But she decides against it. She needs more time to think things through. “Thanks for the offer, big guy, but I… don’t really feel like talking tonight. Maybe next time, yeah? For now, let’s just enjoy the whisky, the night air, and the fact that we’re still alive.” She swallows a big mouthful of the whisky and passes the bottle back to Dur, who has once again lapsed into his usual stoic silence. Illuminated by the alchemical lanterns that shone from the Last Resort, they sit there and drink quietly for a couple of hours, lost in their own thoughts. Abruptly they both hear a sputtering, whirring noise from above them. Instantly, Dur is on his feet as something metallic shines in the moonlight high above them. Flying at a sharp downwards arc, the object dives at them while following an unstable flight path. An instant before it can hit April on the forehead, Dur stretches a huge hand and catches the partially fixed thopter in mid-air. April stares at the metal object that almost knocked her unconscious, in awe of Dur’s reflexes even after almost half a bottle of Romstein’s. She can feel that she is already quite drunk, but the drink seemed to have barely fazed the large half-orc. “Is everyone all right down there?” Cage shouts from the deck of the Last Resort, his voice containing more excitement than sorrow. “Sorry! I didn’t know it was going to do that. But did you see that? I got it to fly!” ---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Bedlam paces the corrider outside of his bedroom for the umpteenth time, the nervousness in his bearing apparent in the sweat glistening on his blue brow. Try as he might, he could not contact Kvothe. It worried him, and he couldn’t sleep. He tries again and concentrates, squeezing his eyes shut as he does so. Suddenly he hears a voice calling out in one of the nearby rooms. Annoyed at the distraction, he tries to discern who is making this much noise in the middle of the night. “Shepherd?” someone cries from one of the bedrooms. Bedlam realizes with increasing wariness that he does not recognize this voice. Without conscous thought, Bedlam’s magical energies begin pouring out of him at the sign of possible danger. Purple energy flows from his hands and eyes as he walks cautiously around the hallway, attempting to pin down the source of the voice. As he hears another muffled cry from the rooms, he realizes where it is coming from and why he does not recognize the voice. The voice is coming from Lamb’s room. In that same instant, he is running towards Lamb’s room. He attempts to open the door to the bedroom, but it is locked. He pounds on the thick wooden door. “Lamb?! Are you okay?” Bedlam shouts with genuine concern in his voice. “Help me, please!” Lamb says in a stifled voice from behind the door. He pushes against the door again, but it does not budge. The doors of the Last Resort were made from high-quality elderwood, and they did their job very well. “Screw this!” Bedlam growls to himself. He takes a step back from the door and raises his right hand, aiming it at the lock. “Firebolt!” he exclaims with a voice that almost cracks with worry. Arcane forces swell from his hand, taking the form of an orange ball of fire tinged with streaks of purple. It shoots towards the locked door, making a small explosion that sounds much bigger than it really is. As the smoke and splinters clear, Bedlam sees that the lock was blown away by his spell, the force of the blast making a sizeable, still-burning hole in the strong wooden door. He couldn’t help but remember an old teacher of his with a smirk, who had told him that he should take more utility spells. Pfft. All problems could be solved if you had spells that were powerful enough. He pushes the door open with his foot and runs into the room. The first thing he sees is Lamb, who is sitting up on his bed with tears in his eyes. He looks to be a slightly sickly shade of grey, but overall seemed unhurt. Still, his distress is more than apparent. “What’s wrong? Are you all right? Also, you can talk?!” Bedlam began to babble at the sight of Lamb in suffering. Slowly, with much pain and effort, Lamb raises his left hand for Bedlam to see. Blue flecks of magical essence float off of his hand, drifting away and disappearing into the ether. Eyes widening, Bedlam realizes that he can see through the appendage. “Please, help me.” Lamb croaks before he collapses weakly back into his bed.